


Gossamer

by LozaMoza



Series: Moments [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Banquets, Destiny, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I hope, Making Love, Meet-Cute, One Shot, There's A Tag For That, Witcher Contracts, and silly nobles, because Geralt and Yennefer, but not really, but not smut, it'll make sense when you read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:02:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24965653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LozaMoza/pseuds/LozaMoza
Summary: What if Rinde wasn't the first place Geralt and Yennefer met? Basically this is just an excuse for me to write more Geralt and Yennefer, because the world needs it!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Moments [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806943
Comments: 27
Kudos: 61





	Gossamer

**Author's Note:**

> And yeah, prepare for angst because I can't really write anything that doesn't have at least SOME angst, especially with these two.

The moonlight clung to them like silver gossamer, illuminating the dichotomy of their frames. He was rigid where she was bending; he was hard lines where she was soft curves. It did not matter; they craved the opposite of themselves and reveled in the feel of each other. Outside, the cicadas trilled their endless song and the light breeze gently rustled the gold-green leaves. It was Spring, and the promise of life hung fat in the air like a sweet pollen, and they celebrated it accordingly, futile though it was. 

Inside, hands grasped for each other, digging into muscle to gain purchase. Breathes became short gasps and long moans. Lips and teeth clashed together, desperate for one another, longing for the other as soon as they parted. Hearts pounded inside chests as a crescendo of pure bliss cascaded through them and ripped open pursed mouths in silent screams. Blinding lights flashed behind closed lids, searing pleasure roiled through their bodies, igniting their skin. They held each other, coming down from their heights, and comforted one another as the waves subsided and time began again.

Outside, the cicadas continued to trill their songs.

*******

Geralt slowly ran his hand along her skin as she lay on her belly, her breasts pressed into the soft mattress. He drew lines along her body, his fingers lightly dancing on the smooth canvas of her back, and he thought of beautiful things for her. He thought of the bright red sunrises he had watched alighting the glaciers of the Kaedwenian ranges. He thought of a waterfall he had known as a child, small and unassuming, but at certain moments, when the light would hit the spray just right, the entire fall would become a rainbow rippling down the mountainside. He thought of the dark nights he had seen in the windswept northern islands of Skellige, with nothing but the stars to light his path, the eerily-silent green and pink auroras dancing in the sky above him. He thought of these things and she smiled.

"You know, I had seen you once before,” he stated after a time.

“Hmm?” She had been nearly asleep.

“Before Rinde. That house was not the first place I saw you.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Tell me,” she finally whispered. 

*******

Geralt had not been interested in going to the banquet for King Demavend of Aedirn. From what he did know of the young king, he was hardly the ruler his father had been, and Geralt felt his presence at the event was more for show than anything else. _Look at the oddities my court can collect._ Geralt hadn’t been interested in playing into that story, but he needed the contract reward for the griffin he had killed. It had not been an easy job. The griffin had been old and long-wizened to the ways of men. It had been calm once, content to live and breed and hunt game, but some arrogant fool had killed its mate for target practice. Griffins mated for life, Geralt knew, and they were intelligent enough to seek vengeance. This griffin had done just that. It had attacked anything it could find, from soldiers to traveling merchants, its rage wholly insatiable. Too many had died, and Demavend had seen the opportunity to garner the love and graces of his people. He had placed a contract on the creature’s head, one that Geralt of Rivia had not been able to ignore. 

The fight had been brutal. Geralt had tracked the creature to its nest, high in the crags of Aedirn, and had lain in wait for the griffin to return. Return it had, its long feathers bloodied with its latest victim, gore still clinging to its talons and beak. Geralt had brandished his sword and had caught the beast off-guard, but it had recovered quickly, swiping at him with those bloodied talons and screeching in rage at this unexpected assault. 

In the end, the griffin had died.

Geralt had not felt the victor. 

Now he waited for his turn to see the King and collect his reward. It was all he wanted. He had never liked balls and banquets. The Path was more inviting and far more honest. Here he stood against the cold stone pillar, jammed uncomfortably into an ill-fitting black doublet, and he watched as noble after noble tried to ingratiate themselves to the young Demavend. 

As some macabre display, Demavend had placed the head of the griffin Geralt had presented him in the center of the banquet table, surrounding the thing in flowers and fresh fruits. He had called today’s feast “The Griffin’s Bounty” and had encouraged everyone to wear feathers, which the court had done in spades. _They look like molting chickens_ , Geralt thought. 

It was a small mercy the griffin’s eyes had been removed, replaced with black stones. At least he wouldn’t have to see the mockery of his death.

Around him, the twittering nobles gossiped liked canaries, flaunting their feathers for all to see.

Geralt turned his head and cursed.

*******

After what felt like an eternity, Demavend had finally presented Geralt with the reward. 700 marks, a small fortune, and enough to see Geralt through to next winter. He bowed slightly and prepared to leave when he heard it.

That laugh.

Surrounded by the high-pitched giggles and squeals of the noblewomen around him, the laugh felt like a balm to his soul. It had a deeper resonance, it’s cadence smooth and clear like the cold air of his mountain ancestral home in Kaer Morhen. He had to see where it came from. He turned, and he saw her.

He saw her.

Though she was surrounded by admirers, she stood alone in her grace. She was in black and diamonds, not a single feather on her person. Her ink-dark hair ran in thick ringlets down her back, reflecting the bouncing light of the candles around her. Her body was graceful and she moved like water, her dress clinging to her hips. Her skin was pale, cheeks delicately tinged in rose. On her neck, fastened by a velvet choker, hung a diamond pendant, it’s stones softly undulating back and forth. Geralt knew she was a sorceress then. But her eyes, her eyes were like something he had never seen before. Violet as amethysts, they utterly captivated him. He could not look away from her.

She turned slightly.

Geralt’s breath caught. Their eyes stared into one another’s, gold meeting violet, and it seemed like time had stopped. Geralt saw eternity in those eyes. He saw himself giving up anything and everything if it would allow him to stare at them one more moment. He knew then that he would be condemned to longing for them for the rest of his days, that nothing would ever suffice. He knew nothing would be the same for him. He knew.

He tore himself from her and walked out of the banquet. He did not look back. He did not see her watching him leave, the look of longing in her eyes as well. 

*******

He was on the Path once more, riding into the night air, 700 marks in his money pouch. He had enough money to spend some time in the towns, visit the whores he had grown to enjoy and had even learned a little about their lives. He had time and money for some companionship now, paid for in coin though it may be. 

Instead he stuck to the Path, feeling more alone than he had ever been before, dreaming of violet. 

*******

Yennefer was silent for a moment. “I was wondering if you remembered that,” she finally said. 

Geralt was surprised. He had not expected her to have remembered that day. “You remember that banquet?”

She laughed and traced his jaw with her hands. “Oh the banquet was forgettable enough, although I do distinctly remember the entire court looked like a gaggle of idiotic geese running around in those feathers.” Geralt laughed. “But you, Geralt, you I remember very clearly. I was so angry with you for not turning around. You would have seen, you know. You would have seen I wanted you if you had simply turned around. But you left.”

Geralt pulled her into him. “I found you again though,” he whispered as he started kissing her.

She hmmed in contentment. “That’s true, and thank heavens for apple juice and impetuous bards.”

He chuckled as his hands began to caress her breasts. She moaned. “Yes,” he sighed. “Thank heavens for that.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm planning on making these little one-shots in a series I created called "Moments". If you have any ideas you'd like me to write (Geralt and Yen specific, obviously) post them below. Sorry, not on Tumbrl! 
> 
> And as always, comments and thoughts are so appreciated. Thank you for reading!


End file.
